A Time to Work, a Time to Mourn
by HSGisME123
Summary: The story of Maximillion Clyde, a shinigami in training. In his first assignment to collect a soul he...
1. Chapter 1

I was nervous and excited at the same time. It was my first real assignment, albeit still technically a training exercise, but it was in-field training! The academy had prepared us for what felt like an eternity (okay, I overexaggerated. It was centuries) for this day. All of those days of rigorous drills and death defying stunt practices were about to finally be put to good use.

The bus drove closer and closer to our destination. By the time we got there, everybody's face was blue from holding their breath in excitement. We hurriedly grabbed our items we brought with us, ranging from garden tools, to power tools, to musical instruments, to scientific lab equipment, and marched off the bus single file, being handed a single slip of paper upon our exit. When I read mine, I clutched my precious case's handle tightly under my leather gloves.

It read: "Damon Matthews: Jan. 17, 15:38." Two weeks. Surely that was enough time to decide whether or not anybody should live or die.

"Are you sure you don't want a partner, Mr. Clyde?" the red haired instructor asked me. "All of the other newbies have one. I know they've changed the rules a bit since I did this but-"

"I think I'll be fine, sir, and please just call me Maximillion." I hated being called anything other than just that, except, "Or just Max is fine." Before any arguments about my name started I dashed away into the area where the dead-to-be lived.

I walked the city, knowing I'd see the dead-to-be soon enough. I passed shophouse after shophouse. "Chinatown" I thought to myself. If it didn't smell like food, it smelled like books or instrument polish. I had almost left that part of town when something stopped me.

It was barely audible through the brick wall, and the boy was foggily visible through the glass that had been painted over to advertise some sort of business. A young boy, possibly ten or eleven, could be seen, standing by a piano, but not playing it. No, a man who I assumed was his father played that instrument gracefully, but I payed more attention to the boy. In his hands he held a violin, and he played beautifully. It caught my attention so skillfully, I could not help but listen. Then something clicked inside my mind.

Surely it couldn't have been that young little boy. No, not that beautiful little boy. He was far too young. He couldn't have possibly experienced anything life had to offer yet. Not when that much talent had so much to live for. There had to be some sort of mistake.

Then I looked at the window of the shop.

At first I could only see myself, dark brown, layered hair with black highlights under every lock, and amber eyes peering through my rookie-issue glasses. My casual, modern suit blended in with the evolved society well, certainly more so than that stuff they had with all the incidents in the Victorian era. Honestly, though I've been told otherwise, I don't consider a black sports jacket with nice pants and a black shirt to be "dashing." I've definitely seen better.

My appearance though, surely wasn't what concerned me. It was just the first thing I saw. My real worries began when I noticed what was advertised on the window.

"Matthews Music Lessons."

Then the music stopped, and the door opened.

"Can I help you, sir?" asked the man. He was taller than I was by at least half a head; I was intimidated.

"No, I was only listening." The man looked back at me with a kindly businessman's smile.

"The music sounds much better inside." I was too nervous to do much else but oblige his offer. He politely pushed me through the door and into the room where he and the boy had been playing.

"This is my son, Damon." The little boy waved and flashed a smile, one tooth missing. I was right, but I wished severely that I was wrong. Not only was he so young, but he also played_ that_ instrument. How did the violin always lead to an early demise?

The man bade me to sit, and so I did. They proceeded with their duet. The music filled the entire building. No, the entire block. The sad, new yet familiar melody struck me deep inside, and it took every fiber of my being to not burst out in tears that very moment. The sound of the violin brought back too many memories.

When they had finished, the boy approached me.

"Mister, you didn't say anything yet. Don't you like music?" His wide-eyed look begged for an answer. It would break my heart to have left him not knowing.

"I love music very much." Of course, that was only half the truth. A little boy like that wasn't ready for the whole truth. The man sent the boy away to practice in his room, and took me aside.

"Damon is a very sickly boy. The only way he can feel at ease is when he plays his violin. He thinks it's impossible for anyone not to feel the same way."

"I understand completely." I could tell he would never understand the entire story either. I took my leave, and contemplated the short life of this boy I was supposed to kill.


	2. Chapter 2

After politely excusing myself, I ran as far away as I could from that music shop. Even after that I kept running, running until I had no more energy. By that point I was out of the city, and well out of earshot of all who lived within it. All alone, out there on a lonely hill that overlooked the city. For now, at least, I could relieve my haunting memories.

I opened the case, and stared at its contents with remorse, as if wishing hard enough would cause it to undo all that had happened. A violin and its bow, both evenly charred, like they'd been carved from a tree that had experienced a forest fire. But I knew those marks hadn't always been there. I still remember when it used to gleam.

I could still see his face. Lime eyes glistening behind rookie glasses like mine, and golden hair that almost touched the bottom of his neck. The memory stayed fresh in my mind. The smell of smoke and burning wood still lingered. Hard to believe it had almost been a year since then. Since the great, tragic fire that killed dozens of rookie shinigami. Since Phillip died.

It had started out like any other day. Class had just let out, and I thought I'd visit my best friend at the Death Scythe department. I always carried mine on me, because it was so small (within the past century or so, there was a new rule that let exemplary students choose their Death Scythes before they became fully fledged shinigami), but Phillip's was a bit different. His was large enough that it had to be carried around in a specially made case. He'd only had it a few years, but with it he had done so much in such a short amount of time. He'd even taught me how to use it. His Death Scythe: a beautiful, glistening violin.

People had been rushing away from there frantically. Something had to be wrong. I ran to the building as quickly as I could, and couldn't believe my eyes. The entire Death Scythe department building was engulfed entirely in flames. Frantically, I searched both the crowds of onlooking and fleeing people. No such luck. My best friend was nowhere to be seen. I began asking everybody, in a mad frenzy with tears running down my face, "Phillip, has anyone seen Phillip? Has anyone seen my best friend? Did he make it out?"

Nobody had seen him.

I watched as the building was slowly overcome by the flames. Nobody knew how it had started, but there had been rumors of a freak accident occurring with the science equipment part. I remembered falling to my knees, shouting, begging, cursing, and praying all at the same time, to the same, cruel God who could take such innocent lives away. But I knew it was no use. He was gone, along with the two dozen or so more that had been in there.

The memories had all rushed back at once, flooding my emotions so much that I didn't know whether to cry, shout, or do anything. All I could do was stand there, staring at the only piece I had left of my best friend. I couldn't even recall his last words he'd said to me. Something had to remind me, though.

I picked up the instrument, and began to play. I played the only song he'd ever taught me on the violin. A simple, sad and beautiful tune, which rose into the air and mixed with my tears to only dampen the most depressing bits of the piece. Even after I'd finished, the song had done nothing to ease my sorrows. Usually it immediately lifted my spirits, but this time, it didn't work. Then again, this time, Phillip wasn't here.


	3. Chapter 3

With time I regained myself. Time that was spent contemplating things in such an order that I could go from one topic to something completely unrelated, a useful tactic taught specifically to keep us sane. How else would someone remain unfazed in a job that requires us to kill all sorts of people, young and old, strong and weak, inspirational and insignificant?

Why was I assigned this boy? Surely someone else could have been given the chance. Didn't they consider my emotions when assigning these? Perhaps they previously assigned them, before the accident. Or maybe it was to test how well I could be unbiased, and able to close off my emotions. Perhaps I should assess this situation more thoroughly. I decided my tactic. Throughout the remaining time allotted, I would watch Damon closely, possibly even talk to him, and determine his value that way. After all, a violin prodigy won't necessarily change the world.

I checked my watch which I had timed to stop in 13 days, thirteen hours and twenty-two minutes. It would continue the countdown unless I commanded it to do otherwise. I read the inscription that I had asked to be carved into its body, there only for me to read if I need calming, or if I screwed up in every manner possible, or both.

"Let your power shine, Make the clock reverse, Return to what once was, Forward to what may be."

The only ability of my pocket-watch I had never tested, that I had been specifically _instructed_ to never use unless it was an absolute emergency and I was going to basically end all life on earth, or something really close. It would also mean total hell for me if I _did_ use it, because it rewinds time, and the only people aware of the event would be shinigami, because we exist outside of time, sort of, and rewinding time is a tricky thing, especially when only one person controls that power. Even rewinding by a few minutes could be disastrous, because _every_ shinigami would have to be aware of it before it happened, so they could be sure to choreograph those minutes exactly the same way as they previously had.

No, I told myself. It would not come to that. I wouldn't need to use such drastic measures. Not I, the top of my class. Although I used to be second best. Phillip was first.

"NO!" I told myself. "I can't let the past distract my work anymore. There's a job that needs to be done, and I've got to do it." That's right. I had work that still needed to be done. That was one of the things that kept me at the top for so long, and was one of the biggest differences between me and Phillip. When there was a job that needed doing, I wouldn't stop until it was done.

I had to face it. He was gone. I would never see those golden locks again. I would never hear him give me another confidence boost. Never hear him tell me my oddly-patterned hair was not a defect, but a gift. I had to tell myself that now, because he wouldn't be there forever.

Never hear his masterful hands and fingers play the violin ever again, no more magical music rising up like waves to touch the shore, then recede and leave a sense of wanting. I could never replicate that, even though he taught me how to play. It was something only he could do.

Why did it have to be him, the best in class? Why couldn't it be me? I wanted to stay his rival, maybe even surpass him eventually, but not this way. I wanted to partner with him for this mission. We had even signed up together for that reason, and I wouldn't dare work with anyone other than him. Nobody else understood me like he did.

Why, why, why can't the memory ever leave my head? Why can't I put the past behind me? Why won't the nightmares go away? I see the flames every night, and I wake up crying, constantly, until I'm so tired that I fall back asleep, and repeat the process over again. If he were still here, he'd know just what to say. He could make those nightmares go away, but he's gone. Why did it have to be him?

"Stop dwelling on things of the past!" I had to get all that out of my head. I didn't want to go insane like so many great shinigami had. "I can't change anything!" Couldn't, or wouldn't? Perhaps it was both. "I need to focus. I have a task that's been entrusted to me alone. I need to complete it." And complete it I would, even if it killed me.


End file.
